Amazing Places You Won't Believe Actually Exist

The Fields of Giant Berries, Mongolia








The vast Fields of Giant Berries on the Mongolian Steppes are transliterated into the phrase "The Berry Fields of Confusion" in Mandarin Chinese. Why so? Because anyone who goes into the fields has a difficult time finding their way out.

This is because every area of the fields looks the same as the next area. The berries are non-poisonous and are very nutritious, but they are not particularly palatable and are regarded as "non-spongiform" and "aporous" by botanists. They are said to taste not unlike a "gamey, fermented Asian elephant milk".


In the above image, you see the sun reflecting off a berry. This very occasional "spark event" in the fields is the only means by which it is possible to discern in which direction you are headed. This is because The Berry Fields of Confusion are the only place on Earth where the Spectral Laws of Diffraction come into play.

If you do catch a glimpse of our sun, you also need other instruments to calculate your direction, relative to the sun. Most of the time, your view of the sky is obscured by the giant berries. As seen from space, the Berry Fields of Confusion have been known to induce headaches because they look too fuzzy.




The further you travel into the Berry Fields of Confusion, the more difficult and squelchy the terrain gets. Even the berries themselves get darker. Since records began in 942 BC, more people have gone missing in the Berry Fields of Confusion than have been killed in all of the conflicts of the twentieth century.



See The Sideways Chapel of Our Lady here!
See an amazing place you won't believe exists on Mars, here!



Standard Response to All the Nay-sayers


This is my apartment after two hours of cleaning. And to all of those Naysayers who claim that it looks even worse than when I started, I say:

"You have to spend money to make money!"

An Early Childhood Chapter 24 Part 3

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: KILLING FLOUDH RAK THE EVIL WARLOCK (PART THREE)

An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan is a mock surreal autobiography, narrated by a fictional Irish war hero, champion bodhran player, and television presenter. Its first chapter is here. It parodies misery memoirs (such as Angela’s Ashes by the late great Frank McCourt), as well as time travel adventure, pop culture, and literature of various kinds.

Continued from Part 2 of Chapter 24.
                The man pointing the rifle at Tancred was Jarlath O’Halloran, who along with running the town’s liberal pub, was actually quite a crackshot as he enjoyed going hunting, an absolute marksman so he was – coz he could hit a fox travelling at thirteen miles per hour, and that was no bigger than two yards. And Tancred knew there and then that his number was up, as he only had bows n arrows n swords.



Then, quite suddenly, a bullet lodged itself in Jarlath’s arm between his wrist bones. Instead of firing his rifle Jarlath dropped his weapon and looked at the wound in his limb, only to have his skull cleaved open by Tancred’s sword. Tancred ran through the second criminal, decapitated the third and kicked the fourth, screaming, off the cliff. The one-armed Bishop O’Brien now stood alone, his own rifle raised and pointed at Tancred’s head.
                I grabbed the rifle which Jarlath had dropped and fired it through Tancred’s legs. The dumdum shot up the caniving bishop’s nose and blew the back of his head open. He fell back onto the bank dead. I pulled myself onto the dirt path off the edge of the cliff and tried to catch my breath. I fell to the grass to join him, exhausted. It was a long time before either of us spoke.
                “You saved my life,” Tancred said, gratitude rich as gravy with a lot of cornflour in his voice as he made the acknowledgement.
                “Not for the first time,” I replied.
                “I thought you were dead,” he admitted.
                “So did I,” I panted.
                “How did you get back up here?”
                “I climbed up,” I laughed.
                “Any other survivors?”
                “I don’t think so,” I says.
                “Flanagan!” my name was screamed out, echoing across the river, bouncing off the cliff faces, before the name’s owner (me) looked up and pulled myself to my feet. The caller could be seen at the top of the cliff on the other side of the river. Floudh Rak stood at some eight feet in height, wearing all black, his cape billowing gently in the wind. Tancred and myself both looked up in awe at the enraged creature.
 

 Continued in Chapter 24 Part 4.

An Early Childhood Chapter 24 Part 2

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: KILLING FLOUDH RAK THE EVIL WARLOCK (PART TWO)

Continued from Chapter 24 Part 1.

               In the previous section, we had set out the following morning, following the river until its banks became steep, until ultimately we were walking along a clifftop high above the water. Soon, we had come across a gunfight that stretched across the river, we had added our artillery support to drive away the Englanders, and six of us had got halfway across a rope bridge to catch Floudh Rak the evil weatherlock before the bridge had collapsed.

                John Fisherman-O’Reilly fell to his knees.

                “No…” he buried his head in his hands and everyone present was sure he was about to have an episode.

                Deepak, Old Man Phelps, Tancred Moorphy M’Nally, John Fisherman O’Reilly, Ai Bang Mi Fa Ki Ni, Fletch Curtis and a few others had watched my plummet into the icy waters.

                “The Hae Penny Rope Bridge!” John Fisherman-O’Reilly said in disgust, from the bank, “And Paddy’s in the water!”

                Tancred nodded. He had a plan already forming in his mind, and was getting strands of the rope bridge onto the bank, and tying their ends to some arrows.



                “Me, you, and Fletch will stay here.” Tancred said. “But we have to get across to the other bank to kill that evil weatherlock!”
                Everybody nodded solemnly
                Just then, a dumdum bullet slammed into the chest of John Fisherman-O’Reilly, and his innards went all over the rest of them. John Fisherman-O’Reilly collapsed on the dirt. The rest of the band watched as a one-armed Bishop O’Brien, Jarlath O’Halloran and the rest of the weatherlock worshippers appeared from the trees a mere fifteen yards from their position. Four more dumdums were fired, and as some dived into the foliage, the rest of my men fell to earth wounded, screaming in pain.
                “Let’s go,” I heard Bishop O’Brien say to the rest of his men, “Let’s go back to the boat.”
                Tancred made to get up and a sudden pain in his leg told him that he too had been hit, and he was forced back down into the grass once more. Blood seeped from the wound.
                “Murderous infidels!” he gritted his teeth as he tried to pull himself up with the use of his scimitar as a crutch. It took a full three minutes. The pain was almost unbearable, but he began to limp, following the shower of dirty feckin killers. The limp became a hobble and the hobble became a sprint. It wasn’t long before the five men appeared in the distance, still walking along the cliff.
                “Your Eminence!” Tancred roared angrily, waving his scimitar, “It’s me! Tancred Mooorphy M’Nally! I’m actually an ally of Paddy Flanagan, the young child who used to bring you letters from the nuns! I’m the last of the rebels – the one Floudh Rak wants! You would have won if not for me! Now… prepare to meet your maker at the hands of a Musselman!”
                The five men had turned around, one of them with his rifle raised at Tancred.
                “Kill him,” O’Brien said simply.
 Continued in Part 3.


PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENTS





Chocolate manufacturer Kinder is delighted to make absolutely clear that not one of the children that appears on the packaging of its delicious product range is - in fact - missing.











 ***

This guy got two of his five a day scoffed on the way home, to save time and costly cooking overhead, and plenty of calcium in a two litre container of milk!


So what will you get - IN THE SHOPS? (This is a public service ad, for the shops.) What will YOU get?


 ***

George Michael has been branded a "driving death trap", a "fire hazard on wheels" and a "motorway pileup waiting to happen" by the British Department of Transport. However, because he wrote and recorded the acclaimed Listen Without Prejudice Vol I, he has been accorded more respect on British roads than either the rest of his opus or his skills behind the wheel should allow. If you see George Michael on the road - whether he is driving, being driven or in a pedestrianised street, simply walking - please, please, please don't expect somebody else to do it. Make sure that YOU warn the relevant local district council.

Courtesy of Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries
WARN THE RELEVANT LOCAL DISTRICT COUNCIL ABOUT GEORGE MICHAEL TODAY!




***

If you're a celebrity and you make an off-color racist, sexist or homophobic remark on American television - or even if it's been discovered that you have done so in a private capacity - then you may be called upon to make a Public Service Announcement denouncing your comments.

Never repeat those same comments on the Public Service Announcement. Go the opposite way.
Public Service Announcements: Go. Opposite. OPPOSITE!


***

Ronseal would like to warn the members of its customer base that if they use Ronseal for anything other than what it says it does on the tin, they may end up in hospital with a nasty dose of the "painter's colic".

An Early Childhood Chapter 24 Part 1



CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: KILLING FLOUDH RAK THE EVIL WARLOCK (PART ONE)

Continued from Chapter 23 Part 3

An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan is a mock surreal autobiography, narrated by a fictional Irish war hero, champion bodhran player, and television presenter. Its first chapter is here. It parodies misery memoirs (such as Angela’s Ashes by the late great Frank McCourt), as well as time travel adventure, pop culture, and literature of various kinds.


                After a day of travel, in the far distance, there were dark, dark clouds, lightning and thunder for long periods – in the direction we were headed.

                And continuing downstream, we noticed the cub scout troop on an island in the stream. The whole lot of them were naked from the waist up, scurrying around the island like savages. They were whooping and blowing on their conch shells. It wasn't like a regular scout troop at all at all.

                One of their number and one of the eldest was Eugene Sheedy. He sat cross-legged on the shore, the only one still in his full Scout uniform, tears streaming down his face.
                “What the hell happened?” I shouted at Eugene Sheedy, the pack leader.
                “We were only after being attacked a few days ago, Paddy! And our raft shtolen, and the evil weatherlock cast a spell to turn us all feral!” He got up and pointed downriver. “He’s in hiding down there, so he is, at the watherfall, at the place where the banks become clifftops!”
                We went further downstream, and the bodies floated past in the water. Irishmen and Englishmen both, in their dozens if not their hundreds, an ominous sign if any there was one. The river picked up speed but we paddled to the shore and hopped off the raft after docking.
                “Why are we stopping here?” Deepak asked.
                “The scout told me that Floudh Rak is just a little further up the way,” I said. On the bank were two bodies – one of them was Colonel Sir Edward Gold Bollocks Tiptoft, the other Colonel Coote Decker, the Earl of Mountwrath. They both had charred holes in their chests, as if struck by lightning.
                “He’s killing off his own henchmen,” I whispered. “We seem to have missed out on the fighting altogether.”
                We began to follow the river on foot, through the forest. The river dipped down into a steep valley, with cliffs on either side. Ahead of us, the Hae’Penny Rope Bridge spanned across the river, which gushed a hundred feet below if it was a day. Above the roar of the river there were gunshots, and just ahead, as we saw, was a gunfight between some Irish volunteers and the English on the other side.
                I saw Floudh Rak on the other side of the rope bridge too, in his cape, with his vile, vampiric face and fangs, chewing on a human arm which he frivolously cast into the river. The arm was clothed in the green and gold of a bishop’s vestments – and I had no doubt it was his one-time ally Bishop O’Brien that he was after eathing.
                “Floudh Rak!” I roared at him, and he looked up.
                The gunfire ceased.
                “Ahhh, Paddy Flanagan!” he said. “Welcome…to die!” He disappeared into the foliage behind him. The English soldiers continued the fight, and I picked up a rifle to squeeze off a shot at the weatherlock, but he was already gone. We won out in the end, the added firepower of our rocket launchers and machine cannon – brought with us from the Madlin Stow of weapons, tearing shreds out of the Englanders.
                I ran across the rope bridge accompanied by five of the soldiers. The bridge started to creak, and suddenly collapsed, and we fell, all the half dozen of us, into the river
.

Continued in Chapter 24 Part 2.

Internet Correction

The Interten would like to commend an eroar made in the following web pages, among a few others:

http://www.newsmax.com/Headline/wilson-obama-state-union/2013/02/12/id/490105

http://www.mediaite.com/tv/megyn-kelly-asks-you-lie-joe-wilson-about-obama-camp-calling-romney-a-liar/

http://www.theroot.com/buzz/did-blacks-start-trend-heckling-obama

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/earl-ofari-hutchinson/obama-heckled_b_3333236.html

http://www.examiner.com/article/joe-wilson-was-right-about-president-obama

Spinster Joe Wilson did NOT in fact shout the words "You lie!" at Precedent Adama during his State of the Union adddrress.

OkYE DokeayY?

Although it was a speech about Precedent AddamMAs's intendeREd healthcare reforms to the American houses of parliament, it was NOT the State of the Union address. Thatnk you!
Somebody closely connected to President Obama

Clarifications: The above photograph is not the author of this post. Spinster Joe Wilson is not a spinster. He's not a senator. He is a Member of the House of Representatives.



Star Trek Into Darkness

Alice Eve as Carol Marcus


Hmmm. I dunno. Hmmm. Star Trek Into Darkness. Hmmm. If Captain Kirk called to my house telling me he was from the twenty-third century and he had a genetically enhanced super-being that required cryogenic storage, I'd tell him there was no space in MY freezer.

Also, here's a joke:

Q. What order does Kirk give to the ship from the surface of the Planet Deneva in Episode 23 of TOS to the crew of the Enterprise, after he has given them the good news that he has found the cure for the Andorrian flu which the crew has contracted?

A. "Beam me up Snotty!"

(All jokes are available in the Star Trek Encyclopedia of Christmas Cracker & Klingon Day of Honor Jokes by Rick Berman and Michael Okuda. Just dip into them and put them on your blog. It pays for itself!)

Star Trek Into Darkness is alright. But as far as sequels go, it's no Iron Man 3. It nicely echoes the original movies. Methinks it stands on its own merits, but it wouldn't be the success it is were it not for the franchise that spawned it, and it actively encourages you to check out the movie on which it is somewhat based. The idea of the timeline being altered in the Trek universe so canonically by the Abrams reboot is easy enough to get over if the movies retain this quality.

So but well can I just ask somethin' about accents? [SPOILERS! SPOILERS! WOO-WOO-WOO!]

Benedict Cumberbunch should - in point of fact - be putting on some kind of an accent. Am I right?

Similarly, the Carol Marcus in the old movie clearly didn't go to boarding school at St. Trinian's. She is quite clearly a Damn Yankee in the old movie. Suddenly, the Carol Marcus Mark II accent can cut glass. She's some kind of an Englander! And yet she has RoboCop as her dad?

The old Carol Marcus, played by Bibi Besch in the '82 movie The Wrath of Khan. A few years later, her father turned into RoboCop.


Also, speaking of Kirk's love interests in the old movies, why didn't they ever do an episode of Seventh Heaven where it was revealed that the very reverend parson vicar preacher-man and his phwakkin' preacher wife were actually time travellers from Star Trek? And then Jessica Biel could've gotten into a bikini. IS THAT CHRISTIAN ENOUGH FOR YEH?

Goodnight!

Also on this blog, check out the Star Trek Dating comic strip please!

Introduction of penalty points imminent, claims Shatter

Recent news has led to a landmark decision by Justice Minister Alan Shatter to "return to a level of fairness". He has declared that the application of two penalty points will now be imposed on every driver's licence in the state. Fianna Fail leader Meeehaawwwwl Martin claims that the decision is unfair on people living in urban centres - where the likelihood of being caught speeding, for instance, is higher - and would mean further penalties.

The Fianna Fail leader also claims that those who already have had penalty points imposed - which are distributed arbitrarily on the whims of members of An Garda Siochána - are being unfairly targeted in the new legislation. There are others who feel that they cannot afford to have penalty points added to their licence at all, as it will drive up other costs, such as insurance.



Critics have voiced objections over the blanket imposition, with many claiming that there have been numerous new taxes already introduced in the last two years. The recent controversies have also led to the involvement of the Data Protection Commissioner. Agnes O'Rourke, 52, of Cahirsifelt, on the outskirts of Fitzwilliamstown-ghost-estate, in Catturnuck, Focker, County Leitrim, says that last year Gardai imposed a stealth fine when she found a warning from the Garda Computer Forensics Squad on her home computer. The message informed her that she had downloaded illegal images, and she was forced to enter her credit card details - and pay hundreds of euros in punitive fees - in order to regain access to her own hardware.

"That fucken laptop hasn't been the fucken same since," she insisted. "It's a fucken disgrace. I've got a fucken son doin' the fucken Leaving Cert here! Can't get fucken access to the fucken Web on the fucken piece of fucken shit - for fuck's sake! Leaving Cert's fucken coming up now in less than two fucken weeks! Fucken shittin' it, he is - coz he can't fucken get fucken online to study his fucken Shakespeare!"

Hard day's work for Ming Flanagan and Mick Wallace

LATE LAST NIGHT, an innocuous convoy truck full of "peat briquettes" hissed and rasped its way along a secondary, unlit County Roscommon route. The truck is believed to have contained a shipment of cannabis resin with a street value of €50,000. It was delivered to the constituency offices of TD Luke Ming Flanagan - and the truck was being driven by the Irish politician himself.



Ming showed little concern about the possibility of being stopped, smoking a number of joints and chatting amicably on his phone throughout the journey with Justice Minister Alan Shatter.

Last Thursday, the delivery of a similarly sized shipment of fodder from France arrived at parliament buildings on Kildare Street. Flanagan could be seen behind the wheel in the driver's cabin as he rammed the truck into the gates of the Dail while a phone was at his ear. Gardai ran towards the lorry, insisting that the independent TD park the vehicle on the footpath rather than try to gain access to the car park for parliamentary members. The ranking officer on the scene attempted to issue Ming with a warning. However, the TD could be seen with his phone to his right ear, his left ear closed with his index finger so that he could continue his phone conversation, and the Garda was ignored.

A second independent TD, Mick Wallace, has also held long phone conversations with Justice Minister Alan Shatter - often in inappropriate and unsafe environments. A small portion of the yellowed grass in the delivery to the Dail was in fact the head of Deputy Wallace himself. He emerged from the back of the truck, scratching himself on the back of his jeans with one hand while chatting on his smart phone with Minister Shatter on the other.

The details of what appears to have been a three-way conference call between Ming, Wallace and Minister Shatter are not known - and are likely never to be revealed given the guidelines and strictures pertaining to data protection and confidentiality under Irish law. Ireland's reputation has transformed in recent years. Half a century ago the Emerald Isle was a parochial, chatty backwater with bad roads and a lack of respect for "officialdom". However, improvements in legislation and changes in attitude have been so radical that as long as ten years ago, it was possible to set up a hedge fund at the IFSC (the International Financial Services Centre) in Dublin's Docklands in a matter of hours - in the UK, the establishment of such a fund would have taken the best part of a week.

Meanwhile, Wallace was subsequently seen directing a number of delivery men into the Dail as they carried slabs of rich, dark Moroccan turf and bales of Amsterdam cattle fodder into Ming's office. When approached by Gardai, he waved them away with the words: "Dail privilege! Dail privilege!" When the Guards continued to accost him, Wallace removed a thin plank from the truck's trailer without another word, and swung it at two of the uniformed officers, all of whom quickly backed away.




Wallace is likely to have been asked by Ming to act as "foreman" for the delivery, as he has experience in the construction sector. However, "Dail bizz on the blower" and simultaneous driving is now rampant among members of parliament. The debate continues.




An Early Childhood Chapter 23 Part 3



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: SUITING UP ON THE BANKS OF THE MADLIN (PART THREE)

Continued from Chapter 23 Part 2.




            The four of us sprinted from the shed with what few weapons we already had in our hands, and quick as a flash, the shed exploded and we were thrown down the hill and into the river like raggedy doll children in the opening sequence of Little House on the Prairie.
            “Well, holy God!” I finally managed, as my head broke out of the waters.
            The four of us managed to doggy paddle back to the bank. Our weapons had landed there as we’d dropped them following the blast.
            We sat, drenched and bedraggled on the bank. Ai Bang Mi Fa Ki Ni finally got up and crouched down, starting to rub two bits of wood together. Arheddis looked at her fearfully.
            “Is she going to start another fire?” he asked us in a frightened tone of a whisper.
            There was a fire burning within twenty minutes. Another twenty minutes was spent by Ai Bang collecting fruits of the forest. She placed a pan atop a makeshift griddle, and with what little Nature had given her, alongside the strips of filo pastry she’d brought along herself, she managed to cook a delicious smelling berry pie.
            “This my apology cake!” she said once finished, holding it before us, with her long sleeves shielding her delicate, porcelain like hands. She bowed. We each took a slice.
            It was very tasty, with a rich bitter-sweetness brought out by the fruits.
            “This is delicious,” I managed to stammer. “You can really cook!”
            “I am gooooood cook,” she admitted. “Making fruit desserts like this is not for the feign-tarted!”
            We finished eating and examined the weapons we had gathered – a rocket launcher and three missiles, two machine cannon with the requisite ammunition, and a number of single shot rifles and pistols. We gathered our belongings and set off again on our raft.

 Continued in Chapter 24.